Not for the first time since arriving in Destiny City, Elaine bundled herself up in her comfortable layers, in her earmuffs and hat and fuzzy boots and thick knee socks, feeling the festive sense of winter joy that such a process generally does bring to a person whose childhood has not been made jaded by frequent snowfall and to whom the sight of a blanket of fresh snow retained its novelty, associated with free days from school rather than with plows and shovels. She put Petitcru into her warmest sweater, tucked her paws into the wee-est of booties, and stepped out into the cold air, taking in a deep and happy lungful of crisp, clean winter air..

Not for the first time since arriving in Destiny City, Elaine immediately turned back around and took her a** inside the apartment before Petitcru even had time to try and wriggle out of her arms. Hacking and coughing, she slammed the door behind her and shook her head, pounding on her chest.

“Nope,” she managed to say calmly, putting the little dog down and, after a moment, removing her scarf to shove it against the bottom of the door. “I don’t know what the ******** it is this time, but it’s staying out there and we’re staying in here. You can use the puppy pad,” she added, divesting Petitcru of her booties and fielding the dog’s wounded look of betrayal.

Petitcru sneezed. “See?” Elaine said. “This is better for us both.”

Granted, she supposed this was the sort of thing that might happen in any town. The bread factory down the road from her childhood house sometimes bathed the entire neighborhood in an aroma of pretzels. Perhaps Destiny City had some sort of spice processing facility with machinery that had gone on the fritz in the pre-holiday rush. But she had already learned that in this city it was wisest to treat any anomaly as something that might only be the prelude to something that would once again end up on the news, and if the cinnamon stench was coming from some place nearer than a distant factory, she was not going to court disaster by trying to brave it, especially not with a fragile little dog in her arms.

She hesitated, and then decided that it would be prudent to pull down the blinds, and also to kill the lights, just in case this was the ominous foreword to some sort of battle unfolding on the apartment lawn. She told herself that sitting in the dark by candlelight was festive, although she specifically did not choose the candle that smelled like cinnamon, somewhat spitefully opting for lime and coconut as if she could will the stink of Christmas and Bullshit away with summertime.

At least it wasn’t a work day, she thought grimly, as she parted the blinds a hair to gaze out over the peaceful snow and search for any sign of Bullshit. Petitcru sighed a sigh of disappointment, broadcasting the sort of wounded dignity and eternal suffering that only a very spoiled small dog enduring a minor inconvenience can, and flopped into her softest bed in a huff as Elaine curled up on the sofa and prepared to read until this - this being the stink - all blew over. But only after, she thought, pulling out her phone, she checked the news to make sure that she didn’t need to evacuate or rediscover her religion on a short notice. In this place, you never knew.